


Someday we'll look back and say these were the good old days (So now we've gotta prove ourselves right)

by Writing_will_be_my_death



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Fantasy AU, First Kiss, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Self-Hatred, getting together hurt/comfort, jon has a skeleton cat, jon is head over heels for martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_will_be_my_death/pseuds/Writing_will_be_my_death
Summary: Martin Blackwood is Jon’s favourite customer. He comes in with a smile, and it never even seems forced. It is a forced smile, Jon knows this, but it’s nice to pretend that he might have a close friend. Someone who just smiles upon seeing him. Of course, Jon knows it’s a lie. No one actually likes to come to the archives, home of all things cursed and unwanted.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 23
Kudos: 172





	Someday we'll look back and say these were the good old days (So now we've gotta prove ourselves right)

**Author's Note:**

> my god ive written a jmart oneshot. holy shit lol

Martin Blackwood is Jon’s favourite customer. He comes in with a smile, and it never even seems forced. It is a forced smile, Jon knows this, but it’s nice to pretend that he might have a close friend. Someone who just smiles upon seeing him. Of course, Jon knows it’s a lie. No one actually likes to come to the archives, home of all things cursed and unwanted. Sure, some things can be transformed into something useful, like how the deadly and volatile devilsweed fruit is the main ingredient in Star Milk, a drink with amazing healing properties, and what Martin, and most others, come into the archives to collect.

Even Tim and Sasha, the only two who volunteer to collect donations that are difficult to transport to the archives, don’t particularly like Jon. They’ll talk to him, be civil, which is more than most customers, but they’re always keen to leave. Jon doesn’t blame them. The archives are not a pleasant place to be.

Still. Martin is good at hiding his discomfort, and sometimes even brings Jon a thermos of tea. Regular, completely wanted and lovely tea. Jon doesn’t know why Martin brings it to Jon, but he knows that it doesn’t belong in the archives. It’s not like Jon can refuse a gift from Martin though.

What confuses Jon the most though, is that Martin tends to linger. He’ll ask Jon questions, what it’s like to live in the archives, to constantly be surrounded by things that, at best, want to cause you discomfort and, at worst, want to end the world. He’ll ask about Jon’s life before the archives, about his time as the apprentice under the previous archivist, Gertrude. It’s a nice change of pace to talk to Martin, even if Jon knows, deep down, that Martin doesn’t actually want to be at the archives.

Jon hopes that no one would blame him for falling in love with Martin, even if it is the facade that Martin has created for when he needs to interact with Jon.

He loves the satchel bag covered in patches and pins of various colours and designs, he loves the notebook Martin writes in when he needs to wait for Jon to be finished serving a different customer because Martin, for some reason, showed up early. He loves that Martin coos at the more benign cursed plants and creatures in the front room. He loves that Martin will always tell him about the wild highland cows that tend to graze just east of the archives, along Martin’s path to the archives. He loves that Martin shows up once a month for Star Milk, more frequent than any other customer.

Jon doesn’t know why Martin needs so much Star Milk so frequently. It takes ages to go bad, and all you need is a splash to cure most illnesses. Yet Martin asks for three litres every month.

A cat meows at Jon, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes, hello, Necromancer,” Jon says to the skeletal cat trying to eat his skirt. “I’ve got a customer coming in soon, so you’ll have to find something else to chew.”

The Necromancer, as per usual, does not listen to Jon, instead tearing off a piece of his skirt and the petticoat beneath it. Again.

“It’s not Martin, but I suspect he’ll send a bird with his scheduled pick up time soon. It’s almost been a full month since he last got his Star Milk.”

The Necromancer meows at Jon. She likes Martin, he’s one of the few people who doesn’t scream when he sees her. One of the only people who will pet her. It’s probably all just a facade, but that never stopped Jon from falling in love with anything else Martin does.

~~~

It's a few weeks later when Jon hears about… him. The one people are calling the cursed man.

It's Tim and Sasha who told Jon about this man, obviously.

A man, large and forboding, bringing death and misery to anyone who gets close to him. Jon tries not to think about how it's been over a month since Martin came to pick up his Star Milk. Tries not to think about how the cursed man has been seen around the villages Martin passes through to reach the archives. 

He tries to tell himself that maybe Martin doesn't need the Star Milk anymore. He tries not feel guilty about being more upset that Martin might have chosen to not come see Jon anymore.

Tim and Sasha say they'll try to direct the cursed man toward the archives so Jon can figure out what's wrong with him. Maybe find a way to let the cursed man live a normal life.

Mostly, though, he worries about Martin. He worries so much about Martin, that he one customer, Jurgen Leitner, the wrong book. Almost gives him a book that would kill him upon reading a single word. Not that Jon would mind if Leitner died but… the archives have a reputation to up hold.

The Necromancer has no such reputation to uphold. She begins to meow more frequently, and far more loudly, after it's been over a month since Martin visited. At every customer who enters the foyer, she rushes to the doors, trying to reach the person. On the odd occasion she slips through, she always leaves upon seeing that it's not Martin.

Of course, it could merely be coincidental, but It's not like Jon has anyone else to complain about how Martin has left him. Or to comfort him about how Martin never liked Jon, and is now likely dead.

This is all to say that Jon was never expecting Martin to return. 

When Jon hears someone enter the archives in the middle of the night, without any warning, he assumes at best it's someone here to kill him and at worst a lost traveller. 

He is certainly not expecting to see Martin standing there, his cloak and satchel torn and muddied. His face, his beautiful face, is covered in grime and sweat, while his normally shiny black hair is matted and cakes with dirt. The Necromancer doesn’t care though, and rubs her boney cheek against his ankles.

“Martin,” Jon says lamely, “what are you doing here- what happened?”

Martin laughs, but it’s not his normal laugh. He sounds… scared. And tired.

“Doesn’t matter- not really,” Martin says. “I’ve actually got a donation for you.”

Jon gasps. “Did it- do this to you? How volatile-”

“N-nope!” Martin shouts, plastic fake joy in his voice. “No this was, uh, something else, I’m fine.”

“Right, well, ah, I suppose I’ll get the uh, the form for you…” Jon says, trailing off as he watches Martin crouch down to pet The Necromancer.

It is, quite frankly, an adorable sight. Almost adorable enough for Jon to forget the weeks spent worrying and whining about Martin being gone.

Still, the forms are easily accessible, and when his hand nearly topples the pile, he grabs one, and hands it to Martin.

“Here,” He says. “There are, uh, pens on the foyer’s table. A-and, of course, sit on the couches while you write. Make yourself at home.”

The foyer has always been a large room. Three stories high, with a stained glass window starting with the second story and continuing all the way up and becoming the ceiling. There are several couches around a raised coffee table, designed specifically to let customers sit and be comfortable while they wait in this cursed place. There is a small desk and chair, directly on the other side of the room from the large and ornate oak front doors. On either side of the desk are two doors, each leading further into the archives.

“I… don’t want to dirty your couches,” Martin says as he stands up, shuffling his feet.

“Oh, I was planning on cleaning them tomorrow anyway. A full deep-clean,” It’s not a total lie. He was planning on cleaning them ‘tomorrow’ for the past 3 years. “They only seem to get used by you, and people who show up covered in mud, blood, or worse.”

Martin gives him a weary smile. And that’s when Jon knows. Martin really doesn’t care about him, it’s all just a facade and now Jon is forcing himself onto Martin while he’s probably cold and tired and pissed off from being covered in mud and grime. 

Because Jon is the archivist, just as unwanted as everything else here in the archives. Banished from polite society, and working in what was once the cursed Magnus Manor, now simply the archives.

Why would anyone as lovely as Martin want to spend any time with something like Jon.

“Uhm, here,” Martin says as he stands up from the corner of the couch cushion, holding the form out to Jon. Jon takes the form, careful not to let his fingers touch Martins. Careful not to send Martin running for the hill before he has to. Maybe it’s selfish, but Jon always did consider himself a selfish man.

Still he reads the form as quickly as possible.

Description/name of the cursed artifact: Martin blackwood.

Is the artifact an object, a plant, or a creature: Creature

What does the artifact do?: Slowly kills anyone who gets close to it.

Advised method of storage/care: lock in an isolated chamber for the rest of its existence

Jon can’t tear his eyes away from the paper.

“Martin-”

“Don’t,” Martin interrupts, sharp and cold. “I don’t need you pretending to care for me, alright? I… I know what I am. And I know what I deserve.”

Finally, Jon looks up at Martin.

“What proof do you have?” He tries. It’s not what he wants to say, But it’s likely the only thing Martin will listen to. “How do you know that you’ll… kill anyone who gets close to?”

“S’what my mum said. Not even the Star Milk could help her, y’know.”

“Star Milk doesn’t cure everything,” Jon says. “It may seem like it, but with certain conditions, like arthritis, dementia, and cancer, it’s just a temporary fix at best.”

“Yeah. Obviously it can’t cure what I do.”

This obviously isn’t going to work.

Jon sighs. “Alright, fine, but this isn’t how I deal with cursed people. There’s a process, because they are people.”

“Oh,” Martin replies, his face forlorn. 

“Follow me,” Jon tells him, and The Necromancer hops up onto Martin’s shoulders as he follows Jon further into the archives.

Jon leads Martin through the archives, going to one of the rooms further in the back. Several plants reach out to them and Jon can’t help but notice that Martin pays them no mind, not even cooing at the butterfly vines like he normally does. 

Finally, they arrive at the room with a large, stage-like circular pedestal. It sits in the center of the otherwise empty room, with intricate designs carved into it, including an eye at the center.

“Stand in the center of the pupil,” Jon says. “It will help me determine if there’s anything cursed within you… and what it’s doing.”

Martin gives him a skeptical look as The Necromancer hops off his shoulders to circle Jon’s feet. Which is fair. The pedestal does look like an altar to sacrifice people to an elder fear god of eyes. Still, he gets up on the pedestal, and goes to the centre. Jon rests his hands on the pedestal, closes his eyes, and looks.

He sees a man. Older than Martin, but strikingly similar. His expression is cold and distant, and Jon knows that Gertrude hunted down this man, who wed a lonely woman, had a child with her, then left the child to care for her after he left a tumor in her brain. He knows that this man left his wife and son so clouded in loneliness that Gertrude couldn’t find them. He knows that this dead man is Martin’s father. He knows that if he does nothing, Martin will waste away into nothingness. He knows that because of Martin’s care, his mother’s gravestone has a name bestowed upon it, her name, and while Betty across the street might not have liked her, she remembers her. Ana Blackwood will not be forgotten, because her son cared for her.

Her son, on the other hand, is full of care for others and none for himself. Ana does not like to talk about him, referring to him only as a “wretched excuse of a child”. Her son spent the majority of his life caring for Ana, leaving no time for friends, or relations of any kind. Ana’s vague words about him have left people knowing him only as “the cursed man”.

And one day

He will be

Fo r g o t t e n

Jon screams as he takes his hands off the pedestal.

“Oh my gods, are you okay?” The man… Martin. His name is Martin. Martin says, not moving off of the center of the pedestal.

“Yes.. yes I’m alright,” Jon replies, giving Martin a quick soft smile. “I-It’s done, now. You can… step off the pedestal.”

“Oh. Right,” Martin mumbled, shuffling off of the pedestal. It’s just a bit adorable. “So, what did it say?” He continues, slightly louder.

Jon takes a huff of breath and smiles at Martin again. “You didn’t kill your mother. You’re actually the reason she lived as long as she did.”

Martin’s face falls, but Jon can’t understand why.

“So I’m the reason she suffered?”

“What? No-”

“You don’t need to lie to me, Jon. I know what I am,” Martin continues, turning to leave.

“Martin, no, wait!” Jon shouts, grabbing Martin’s arm. “If you hadn’t done anything, she would’ve faded away, forgotten by everyone, but never truly dead.”

Martin stops. “You know what?” He says, in a shaky voice. “I think she would’ve preferred that.”

“It’s happening to you too,” Jon says in a panic. “You.. you’re fading too. And...” He tightens his grip on Martin’s arm and rests his head against Martin’s shoulder. “And I can’t let that happen to you.”

There’s a moment where they stand there, lost in thought of the other.

“I deserve it, you know,” Martin whispers under the blanket of silence.

“No,” Jon replies all the same. “You really don’t.”

And Jon moves in front of Martin, puts both his hands on Martin’s dirt-covered cheeks pulling Martin’s face down so he’s at Jon’s eye-level. And kisses him. It’s a bad decision, obviously. Martin definitely doesn’t reciprocate Jon’s feelings. Jon’s not even certain that Martin likes kissing, he might find this disgusting regardless of who’s kissing him. Not that it really matters since Martin will be disgusted by Jon kissing him anyway.

When Jon pulls away, Martin is crying.

Shit.

“Martin, shit, I-I’m sorry, I-I-I-” Jon doesn’t know what to say, he wasn’t expecting Martin to cry.

“Y-you can't just-” Martin starts between hiccuping breaths, pausing to try and calm his crying and stepping back so Jon’s hands are no longer on his cheeks. “You can’t just- pretend to care about me like that.”

“Martin- I-I’m not pretending!”

“It’s not your fault if I die, okay! You don’t need to… to fix me, okay?” Martin cries. “It’s not your fault if I fade away.”

“Maybe I just care about you and don’t want to watch you fade away!”

“Well then don’t look!”

“I want to look at you!”

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

This time, the silence is heavy and deafening.

“Bullshit,” Martin whispers into the silence.

Jon sighs. “Martin, I understand that… well… I’m not exactly who people want to fall in love with them. And I completely understand if you would rather I asked Tim and Sasha to either be the ones who help or find someone who could help you, but Martin, please, I couldn’t bear the thought of you fading away into the fog.”

Martin shakes his head as tears cascade down his face. He doesn’t bother To wipe them away. “Jon, you fucking idiot, there’s no way you’re in love with me, especially since I’ve got a- a crush on you!”

That makes Jon stop.

He puts his hands back up on Martin’s face, and wipes away his tears. 

“Martin…”

“Please, Jon, don’t lie to me.” Martin pleads in a whisper.

Jon gently pulls Martin’s head down again, and rests their foreheads together. “I would never lie to you, Martin. Not about this, especially about this. I love you,” And he does his best to put that in Martin’s head, make sure he knows it as an undeniable fact.

Martin freezes and Jon almost runs. Maybe it was too much, too soon.

And then Martin kisses Jon, and Jon melts into it. He shifts his hands so he can hold Martin’s head, as Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s waist. Martin's lips are cracked and cold and yet there's nothing Jon would rather be doing. He savours the kiss this time, letting it be slow and languid.

The kiss only stops when The Necromancer sinks her claws into Martin’s leg, causing him to yelp. She merely meows at him, demanding attention.

“The Necromancer would also miss you if you faded into the fog,” Jon whispers to Martin.

Martin laughs shyly. “Yeah… yeah.”

“So please? Don’t fade away?” Jon pleads. “Let me remember you.”

Martin buries his face into Jon’s hair as the Necromancer jumps up onto his shoulder. 

“Martin-”

“Thank you, Jon,” Martin says, his voice muffled by Jon’s hair. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes i spent way too long trying to come up with a jmart oneshot idea so hopefully more people would see my stuff... comments pleas


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